


Prompt(ing us onward)s

by butcherbirdie



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angsting about Haven, Best Friends trapped in a fantasy setting, But I mean....it's been hinted at before this tag got added sorry, Explicit Sexual Content, Gen, I want to be BFFs with Sera, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Modern Character in Thedas, Modern Girl in Thedas, Nonbinary Character, Spoilers about Blackwall, Two Inquisitors, Why has no one invented indoor plumbing and why are we so mad about it, but she is so intimidating, implied/referenced eating disorder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-25 04:14:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30083292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butcherbirdie/pseuds/butcherbirdie
Summary: There’s not a lot of time during their run as Inquisitors to linger on individual memories. But they try, anyways.One shots based on random “one word prompts” found on the Internet. Uses the Inquisitors Thea and Adrian from “2 Inquisitors, 1 Brain Cell”-verse. Sooo out of order.
Relationships: Blackwall/Female Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Female Inquisitor & Sera (Dragon Age), Inquisitor & Inquisitor
Kudos: 2
Collections: Two Inquisitors One Brain Cell





	1. HEADACHE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Twin-quisitor’s arrival in the Emerald Graves is more like a whimper than a bang. Solas helps.

Thea feels a heavy weight of sorrow on her chest for days after the Inquisition party arrive in the Emerald Graves.

It doesn’t help that it’s raining – the Graves carry the moisture in the leaves, the grass, the pressing wildness. Thea’s hair frizzes into something unmanageable; the moisture catches against her skin, in her clothes, slides slickly under her cuirass. Starts up a chafe that follows her to the next camp, so every movement of her horse is an irritability on her flesh.

It doesn’t _help_ that it’s the _Graves_ – Adrian’s been stiff-backed for hours, like they can feel the things that linger here. Thea has never had an ear for the spiritual; has never managed to cock her head into the Fade the way Adrian does. But even _she_ can sense the system underneath their feet, how the trees and their roots thrum with something Thea can’t name.

Thea gets a migraine a day into the Graves, a force that throbs her whole face and neck along with it. Adrian goes stiff and stilted and won’t speak much; carries themself like they’ve taken a blow to the chest in battle. Thea gives them some space, but it’s mainly for her. She doesn’t get headaches often (aside from alcohol-induced ones) so they really knock her flat without ibuprofen and she gets irritable.

When they break for the evening on the second day, camped in a shaded grove, Thea goes straight for her tent lugging some cold river water with her. At this point the pain is so intense that she can barely struggle out of her leathers, dropping down on the furs spread out on the ground of her tent and spending a minute with her head on her knees, trying to push the pressure points alongside her eyebrows with her own kneecaps, breathing through her nose.

That’s where Solas finds her when she hears him call from the outside of her tent, “Inquisitor? The food has been prepared.”

“Be there in a moment.” Thea’s voice sounds strained even to her own ears and there’s a beat of silence.

“Are you alright?” Solas sounds a little concerned. “May I come in?”

“Whatever floats your boat.” She mumbles, eyes closed against the light (even if the sunset isn’t as harsh as the noontime sun).

Another beat of silence; then she hears the tent flap push aside.

“Are you unwell?”

 _What does it look like, Solas?_ She thinks with a brief burst of irritation, but then feels bad about it.

“Have an awful headache.” She finally lifts her head and reaches for the bucket of cold water, where she’s let a few cloths soak. Solas watches her as she wrings one out and places it over her face, exhaling from the cold shock.

“Is this related to the Mark?” he asks her. “Or did you have these before?”

“Not very often.” Thea grits out. “I – sorry, Solas. Not in the best of shape right now. Do you have peppermint in Thedas?”

His silence tells her, probably not.

“It’s kind of like a refreshing herb, tingles on the mouth, good for tea, used in dessert.” She tries uselessly, tipping her neck back. “I used to apply the oil to the back of my neck and my forehead when I got headaches like this.”

“I might have something.”

Thea blows out a breath, says, “Thanks, Solas. Sorry. I’m acting like a child.”

A pressure tells her that Solas has put his fingers on her forehead, overtop the cloth.

“Headaches often throw the best of us.” He offers kindly; when he comes back bearing a herbal compress, she takes it with easy thanks.

“You’re a lifesaver.” She moans happily, folding the cloth up to place on the back of her neck and allowing the smell of the compress to fill her nose when she presses it against her brow.

There’s another silence where neither of them say anything. Thea gets itchy when she’s with someone who won’t easily fill silences, so she blames her mouth for running away from her when she quips, “This place is heavy. There’s lots of stuff here.”

“Heavy.” Solas repeats, a little amused. “Yes, the rain does tend to weigh things down.”

“Solas,” Thea says, with a bit of irritation. “C’mon. You’re the most existential person I know. I’m not talking about the rain.”

After another pause, she admits, “It feels sad here. Like there’s something hanging around that I can’t see. Adrian can feel it too, I’m pretty sure. It’s suffocating. Makes my head hurt.”

Solas pauses; then, with a bit of skeptical wonder, “I was under the impression that you weren’t as…sensitive to the Fade as Adrian is.”

“Well, we all have our hidden talents.” It comes out sharper than Thea meant, and she opens her eyes to wince at the elf beside her.

“Sorry, that was rude.” She apologizes. Solas gives her an easy shrug of _no harm no foul._

(She thinks, anyways – the dude is hard to read)

“You’ve mentioned, before, that there was no Fade where you are from.” Solas is looking straight at her – dropped into an easy crouch that hinges his hips open, he looks attentive and relaxed all at once, shoulders still dusted dark from the rain outside. “Adrian has mentioned the concept of spirits. I admit, some concepts are easier to grasp than others.”

“Yeah, get used to that.” Thea quips fondly. “I – yes. “The Fade” isn’t a thing, in our world. But the concept of spirits crossing over or communicating with people…even the concept of another world parallel to ours…some people believe in that stuff. It’s more of a…belief system than a – fact.” She waves her hand at him to clarify, the Mark sputtering as it sometimes does when it comes into contact with moisture.

“And have you ever had encounters with spirits in your world?”

Thea cocks her head – talking is getting easier, though she’s not sure if her mood is lifting or if the compress is working.

“Nothing on Adrian’s level,” she assures him. “I’m sure you’ve heard stories, if you’ve been talking to them about spirits. I personally think everyone can sense stuff like that on some level. Whether they believe it is another matter.”

He waits her out and she blows out a breath.

“It's just stupid stuff,” she shrugs. “Like a…feeling. Something showing up that seems off or meaningful, like a sign. Dreams, sometimes, but I usually didn’t dream even before I came here. Things out of the corner of my eye, though I don’t like that part. The physical manifestation part. Probably why Cole scares the shit out of me.

“Don’t tell Cole I said that, I’m sure he already knows but that’s so rude to say.” She tacks on at the end when Solas takes a breath that could also be classified as a laugh.

“My lips are sealed.” Solas smiles at her; then, “Adrian and I have also discussed the concept of magic in your world.”

The sentence tilts up in a way that Thea reads as: _and what are your thoughts on THAT?_

She supposes her and Solas haven’t really talked much about this, outside of her and Adrian doggedly hounding him with questions in the first few months of being in Thedas. He was always happy to answer their questions, but Adrian was the one who sought him out individually. They always shared what they spoke to Solas about, obviously, but as Adrian’s awareness of their connection to the Mark grew so too did their time spent with Solas as a mentor to their magic.

Thea had found more recourse speaking with Dorian – his creeping, seeping necromancy had surprisingly helped her with her own tentative, passive magic. Not at all to Dorian’s satisfaction, of course, but it _was_ helpful to _her_ at least.

“The concept of only certain people being able to do magic is…an interesting one.” She offers instead. “Like I said, if I had to classify it, magic back home is more of a spiritual belief. Less about firing lightning bolts at people and more about – ”

Thea hasn’t talked about this before and she falters in her explanation – especially when Solas is _looking_ at her like that.

“Uh? I don’t know. It sounds stupid to say “lighting candles and putting things together” but-t-t…it’s something anyone can do. Ritualistic, based on intent. You don’t have to be a mage, you just have to _practice,_ I guess. And even then. It feels like sometimes everyone has a bit of magic they don't have to think about. Finding lost keys; making good food. Sometimes that seems like magic enough, at least where we're from.”

“That’s what Adrian mentioned, as well.” Solas’ eyes have gotten a little sharper and he remarks, “Now here you are. Unable to dream. Therefore, unconnected to the Fade. Yet I have seen you perform magic when needed.”

“I know connecting to the Fade is kind of the be all end all for magic here,” she feels almost defensive of her small little spells, dwarfed by Solas’ ability to pull the sky down on top of them (well, at least that’s what it feels like to stand next to him on the battlefield, some days!).

“But is there no – like, possibility that this world also has its own kind of magic? Separate from the Fade, maybe a little less “tappable” but still there? There’s something in these trees Solas, and maybe it’s not “Fade” specific, maybe it’s stuff that’s percolated here in a heavy place and made its own magic?”

“When the Veil is thin in certain places, many things are able to seep through and “percolate”.” Solas counters, though he sounds vaguely interested in her train of thought.

“I guess.” She sighs – closes her eyes as she presses the compress once more against her brow, then says, “Thanks for this. Think it helped. You were saying there’s food?”

Solas easily stands, then offers his hand to her. Startled, Thea takes it, clambers up with less grace, but Solas doesn’t seem to mind.

“As always, speaking to you and Adrian gives me much to think about.” Solas tells her.

“Does it?” she asks, a little incredulous. “I – well, if you want to speak again, let me know. Not sure how helpful I’ll be but – ”

“Learning about other worlds is infinitely helpful to me.” Is Solas’ reply, and it’s only years later that Thea registers that sentence for the true threat that it is.

For now, she gladly follows the elf out of the tent, to where the smell of campfire and stew chases away the last throbbing of her migraine. She even manages to coax a few stilted laughs from Adrian, who has wrapped themself in a fur and is being concern-fed by Cassandra.

* * *

They get absolutely _ambushed_ four days later by a crawling mass of undead in an abandoned Chateau – but at least the weather’s cleared up and the _new_ headache Thea acquires is instead from screaming as she jumps off a balcony onto a set of suspended dragon bones to escape a mottled, limping corpse that tries to grab her between some bookshelves.

Not a good look. Adrian teases her about it for weeks.

Ah, well. Solas' herbal compress helps just the same.


	2. ETERNITY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrian makes the choice to drink from the Well of Sorrows. Thea has some Feelings about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deviating a bit from canon - it doesn't seem like choosing to drink from the Well REALLY has repercussions for the Inquisitor in game. Could be another Bioware "big build up to minimal in game consequences", could come back to bite in DA4 but I've read enough fairytales to know where this is going, dude.

Thea enters the tent before she really knows what she’s doing – her feet seem to have a mind of her own and she enters just as Adrian finishes a sentence. They’re speaking with Solas, and the two of them swivel to look at her.

This is one of the only times where Thea’s felt like she doesn’t belong in a room with Adrian; that she is being kept out of a conversation because she doesn’t need to know about it; and the panicked anger has her speaking through her teeth.

“Solas. May I speak to the Inquisitor for a moment?”

The two of them exchange a knowing look and Thea’s temper flares. If there’s one thing she hates, it’s being patronized – Solas does that without even knowing, but it hurts more to think that _Adrian_ is part of it.

“Of course.” Solas gets to his feet, face placid; walks past her and is out of the tent without another word.

The silence and the distance stretches between the two Inquisitors and it breaks Thea’s heart. In the lamplight, the lines on Adrian’s exhausted face – the slinking cedarwood-coloured wave of hair that’s fallen out of their braid; the slope of their shoulders, infinitely heavier after the events of the afternoon – makes them look like a stranger.

The last time Adrian looked like a stranger, they _were_ ; Thea had just met them in the living room of a university friend’s house. Back then Adrian had looked so young and so puppy-dog happy, like they were scared if they stopped smiling someone would get angry. Like they were expecting a kick. It had taken Thea a while to find out exactly _why_.

Thea isn’t sure what Adrian saw looking back at them during that first meeting. At the time, Thea had just come back from studying abroad, medicating her anxiety with alcohol, using her reckless arrogance to throw herself into caustic situations and disguising the whole mess with sharp, dry-humoured barbs. She had transitioned back into living with her parents after a semester of spending all her money on alcohol and eating oatmeal three times a day, and she had felt pretty fucking rough. When she looks back on photos of herself at that age she feels sick ( _and, sometimes, unfortunately a little envious_ ) of how much weight she’d lost through her own self-loathing.

They’re not those children anymore. Nearing half a decade in this world, they’re both exhausted adults who have seen too much.

“What were you thinking.” Thea says – her voice trembles at the end, they both hear it. If it was anyone else, Thea would expect them to pounce on the weakness. But at the very least, she trusts Adrian not to.

Adrian sighs – it feels like they’ve already accepted anything Thea wants to throw at them.

“I know you want me to say, “I wasn’t”.” they point out. “But believe it or not I _was_ thinking. And this was the best outcome that I could see.”

“ _Morrigan_ was _capable_ of – ”

“How do you know that?” Adrian’s voice doesn’t rise but it cuts through Thea’s attempt to wind herself up into a frenzy. “We don’t even know who she is, Thea. She says she’s capable. She’s perfectly capable of reading books about elves, sure. We both had to listen to her spout off every fact imaginable the whole way here. How do we know?”

Thea bristles because Adrian’s right, but her fearful anger won’t allow her to accept that just yet.

“There was time to find another solution.” She insists. “There were _two_ of us, Samson could have been delayed – ”

“Samson is a soldier,” Adrian counters. “Trained by the templars. We work best with the element of surprise. My body comes with a countdown, and you work your best at long-range. If we had tried to stall, Samson would have worn me down, and then he would have gone through you, too. With a handful of templars behind him, what were our odds?”

“Our odds have always been shit since the moment we landed here so not sure why it suddenly matters now.” Thea hisses, and it’s just acidic enough for Adrian to start, focus their eyes; then state,

“You’re angry.”

 _I’m SCARED_ , Thea thinks but doesn’t say.

“What was the alternative?” Adrian asks.

“Morrigan.”

“No, it wasn’t. If we had had time to speak beforehand, I would still say the same thing.” Adrian takes a moment to stand; their eyes have changed and Thea aches for it.

Their whole time here, her and Adrian have been separated from everyone else. If not by the marks on their hands (they needed to _lead_ , to _problem solve_ , to _be better_ ), then by their alien origins. Even in the darkest of times – when most at Haven bowed to their faces and whispered at their backs – at least they could sit around the fire at night and whisper little stories and jokes to each other. Even now, with an “Inner Circle” and both of them cultivating strong relationships with the different people who surround them, there has always been a “Thea-and-Adrian” wall that no one else can cross.

“Solas seemed perfectly happy to judge us on every other decision we made today,” Thea draws herself up, slings her anger at the next available target. “If he has so much to say perhaps _he_ should have drank from the Well instead.”

Adrian _looks_ at her.

“This isn’t about Solas.” They maintain. “You’re angry. Say what you need to say.”

“Evidently I don’t need to _say_ anything,” Thea can feel her pulse in her face, the sickly thump of her heart that occurs when she loses her temper and says something nasty out loud. “You will do what you please without considering – ”

“It is unfair for you to assume I do _anything_ without considering.” Adrian’s voice has increased, minutely, in volume. “That’s not _fair_ , Thea. I consider everything. I think everything through in my head, a hundred times over, I can’t stop. It’s exhausting. We only had a few moments but I thought about it enough for a lifetime.”

Sometimes Adrian is kind enough to walk Thea through her anger – but now, at the end of a long day, with Adrian’s muscles beginning to tremble, they have no such patience left to afford her.

(Thea doesn’t deserve it, she knows that perfectly well.)

“You don’t have to have your fingers in every fucking pie in Thedas,” she exclaims. “Not all of this is your responsibility! You don’t have to be able to close Rifts _and_ know weird ancient shit about a world you’re not even _from_!”

Adrian’s eyes narrow. “Do you seriously think I drank from the Well because of my own personal interests?”

“No!” Thea protests. “I don’t, but I think after four years you still haven’t learned how to rely on others!”

Adrian trembles.

"You. _You_ know that is patently untrue. That is unfair. Morrigan is a _highly_ ambitious wildcard, and we both do not trust her. Don't you _dare_ make this about me and _my_ insecurities. I am not the one--"

Adrian cut themself off, continuing, "Run the odds, Thea. Solas was not going to drink, you know that. He was going to leave. Morrigan is not an option. That was far too volatile. Who was left?"

Silence.

"Who was left, Thea? Samson? Corypheus? If Samson had drank from the Well and none of us had, Corypheus would have an advantage that we can’t afford to give him. We may have solidified strongholds across the country but he has people _everywhere_. The red lyrium grows everywhere and I’m _tired_ of seeing Varric beat himself up every time we come across a new grow site. You can have your opinions about what I did but I know you don’t trust Morrigan either, Thea, and you’re not able to give me another solution so why – ”

“How could you _go_ where _I couldn't follow you_?” the question tears itself from Thea’s throat before she can stop herself. It has Adrian blinking in the lamplight, entirely taken aback.

“H-how could you leave me behind like this?” she can feel her nails in her own palms, and her face is instinctively screwing up against the tears. “I’ve fuh-followed you everywhere. Into caves and into battle and into the Fade and through death out onto the other side and you never left me behind and you _waited_ for me even though I slowed you down or complained the whole way or made stupid jokes about it.

“My “solution” is _nobody_ drinks from the Well, not Samson, not _you_ , not bloody Morrigan.” She continues. “But _especially_ not you. Because now I can’t follow where you’re going. Now I can’t go to sleep confident that we can go back to where we came from because you’re changed. You’ve got something inside you from this world and I – and I'm not going to _leave_ without you so now we’re _both_ stuck here.”

Very rarely does Thea see Adrian lost for words. They remain standing – neither of them have approached the other – but Thea sees their spine bow with the realization.

“I – Thea.” Adrian says.

“Adrian.” Thea parrots, voice thick. “I’m mad at you because I’m scared. Because now you’re going somewhere terrifyingly new and I’m not able to go with you.”

“Where am I going?” Adrian wants to know, the edge of a panicked laugh on the outskirts of their voice. “I – things have changed, but that’s – ”

Thea wonders, wildly, how Adrian can’t see it – there’s something out of the corner of Thea’s eye when Adrian moves into her peripheral. She can’t focus on it (though it will become sharper and more defined the longer they stay in Thedas) and she can’t describe what it looks like, but it hangs off her friend now. Like a millstone around a neck. It fills her with dread and her heart’s hammering out of her chest.

Thea’s read fairytales before. Someone always comes to collect. Two months, two years, two decades from now – it doesn’t matter. There’s always a price. You don't walk away with knowledge like that unscathed.

She tries, briefly, to explain this to Adrian. Adrian lets her ramble for a moment but Thea doesn’t feel like they _get_ it. Granted, Thea isn’t explaining it correctly, can only really express her sinking feeling that this will come back to bite them – _them_ , because whatever affects Adrian will affect Thea. Will break her heart, if not kill her.

Adrian’s jaw works briefly; then they say:

“I just thought of Thedas. I didn’t think of us. I just thought of…you have to know that.”

“I _know_.” Thea snarls, scrubbing fiercely at her face with the heels of her palms. “I _know_ you did you absolute self-sacrificing _buffoon_.”

“Hey.” Adrian gives a hiccupy laugh of surprise.

The discussion is by no means over – the Inquisitors will circle this topic for months still; Thea alternating between dread and anger, Adrian maintaining their decision made in the moment, both working through the events at the Temple of Mythal slower than they've ever worked through any previous mission. At times it will get so acidic that the advisors will look between each other, startled to hear the Inquisitors address each other like this.

For now, however, the stillness of the Arbor Wilds outside presses out any conversation between them and they sit together. Samson has been captured, will be transported back with them to Skyhold to face judgement.

Eventually Solas re-enters the tent, asking if they can discuss what happened at the Well, and Adrian’s foot seeks out Thea’s shin under the table.

“You’ll stay?” They invite.

(Thea always will)

(Thea does)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @PaigeStaves for help with Adrian's dialogue. It's hard to write serious moments with someone else's character!
> 
> Look, friendship IS magic, I refuse to believe otherwise.


	3. UNDERGROUND

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thea goes spelunking with Sera and it’s…not ideal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Sera, no I do NOT accept criticism.
> 
> Takes place in Haven-era, for context.

Sera’s muttering to herself – she doesn’t do it like Adrian, who gets so wound up in a project they have to put ideas on the outside or lose it in their brain. She doesn't do it like Rutherford, who seems wholly caught up in whatever macabre numbered odds he's running through his weird curly head every time he watches his recruits spar.

Sera’s muttering is designed to be sharp, pointed, and _overheard_.

And _boy_ is it _ever_.

“Don’t even know why you friggin’ make me _come_ places,” she’s saying, viciously stamping in the inches of water currently under their boots. Thea is holding up a torch in front of her, leading the two of them down a gently slanting tunnel.

They’d been partway through a battle in the Hinterlands – had been ferreting out an honest to God _cult_ , who has time for cults when there is a literal _war happening around them_?! – when a man who Thea had thought was just a suspiciously talented archer had hoisted himself up on a cart thirty feet away from her and Sera’s vantage point and leveled an explosion at their feet with what turned out to be a longbow _staff_. They were both up on a craggy outcrop of rocks and Thea knew that the mage had meant to knock them off their feet with a miniature landslide. Instead of simply sliding down the side of the hill with the loosened rock, her and Sera had gone backwards and _down_.

The explosion had opened up a drop, down into a cavern that slanted under the hill, leaving a hole in the side of the rock where they once stood. Thea had hit the side of the hole on the way down, scraping up the side of her arm but managed to break her fall in the cavern below. Her bow, thankfully, had survived but she lost some arrows in the turmoil. Sera had, briefly, managed to hang on to the lip of the hole before joining Thea below. She sounded like a cat when she landed, outraged and yowling.

It was a decently big drop – when Adrian called Thea’s name, her friend’s face seemed farther away than Thea would have thought. They briefly debated – with Bull and Vivienne joining up top – about lowering a rope down but they’re thin on supplies as it is, just far enough away from Dennet’s farm that they’re due for a restock at the next camp and Adrian’s not sure if the length will be enough or if it will support them in their armour without additional reinforcements.

“These tunnels might come out somewhere,” Thea had suggested to Sera who, aside from a scratched up face and a torn sleeve, looked none the worse for wear. “Maybe we could try following and see if they eventually go up?”

“What, and face off against _darkspawn_?” Sera scoffed. “No thanks!”

“Sera.” Thea looked up at the sky – and Adrian – for guidance. “Might be a hell of a lot easier than scrambling back _up_.”

“Just let Madame de Stuck-Uppiness levitate us out of here.” Sera flapped her hand up in Vivienne’s direction.

“Oh, so sorry my dear,” came Vivienne’s cool reply, floating down to them. “All out of “levitate us out of here” spells I’m afraid.”

“What’s the point of magic then” Thea caught Sera’s grumble as the elf turns to look at the dark tunnel that stretches down into the dark.

“Well, you can stay here if you'd like,” Thea had told her, looking back up at Adrian. “Gimme half an hour, Ade, I’m going to see if I can get back up above ground. If not…I'll come back and we’ll talk about that hoisting plan.”

Thea didn’t look back at Sera, because if the elf’s made up her mind about something it’s very hard to talk her out of it.

Under the weight of their three companions’ stares, Sera had finally groaned, “ _Fine_ ” and followed her.

That had been more than twenty minutes ago, but Thea is optimistic. They had briefly wound back around as if away from the hill, but now it felt like they were going back under the rock.

If she concentrates, Thea can find the pinpoint of Adrian’s humming hand – above their heads, distant but not inaccessible. She’s reluctant to turn back around so soon.

“Sera, _please_.” Thea huffs. “The sooner we get out of here the sooner you can complain in the _sunlight_.”

“At this rate we’re going to meet _dwarves_ before we get out.” Sera sounds like she’s stomping out of spite.

With a laugh, Thea tries, “You have to admit, okay, this usually doesn’t happen when you come out in the field with us.”

“’F it isn’t explosions it’s beasties, or _demons_ or,” Sera shudders, “ _bogs_.”

“Bogs.” Thea repeats, tone dry. “Is that – is that high on your list of fears?”

She can practically feel the force of Sera’s glare on the back of her head.

“Can’t see the bottom,” Sera offers after a moment. “Could be all sorts of shit in there, _you_ don’t know.”

“Oh-h-h.” Thea winces, turns over her shoulder to direct an apologetic face at Sera. “Shit, yeah. I forgot you came with us to the Fallow Mires. OK, yeah, OK we are not giving you the best track record here. How about next time we go somewhere nice together? Somewhere like…”

Thea briefly pauses, then snorts.

“Was going to say Val Royeaux but – ”

Sera sniggers.

“’d take starchy-collared arseholes over the things in that bog any day.” She declares.

“I’ll hold you to that.” Is Thea’s sly reply and she jokes without remembering who she’s talking to (bad habit), “We can go drinking, all those masked up rich people can see one of the Heralds ralph into a garbage can and fist fight a marquis.”

She gets, briefly, distracted, wondering if there are medieval equivalents of city garbage cans and if she’s actually seen any – so it’s too late to recognize Sera’s silence for what it is.

Turning again, she sees the absolute _glee_ on Sera’s face.

“That was a joke.” She tries weakly. “Sera – _Sera_ – that was a joke, you know that right – !”

“ _FRIGGING LOVE YOU_!!!!” Sera cackles – leaps forward in the dimness (elf vision is _no_ joke, Thea wouldn’t risk skipping in here let alone leaping) to press a messy, foul-breathed kiss between Thea’s cheek and her ear.

(No judgement on the foul breath – being on the road takes it out of _everyone_ , Thea’s at the point where she can acutely smell her own pits most times of the day).

“Sera noooo.” Thea warbles, almost pitches forward in the dark tunnel – luckily, Sera has the physique of an archer, compact but muscled, and easily keeps the two of them on their feet, her hand snagging the back of Thea’s cuirass to stop one of the Heralds of Andraste face planting in a dank ass cave.

“We’ll bring Beardy.” Sera enthuses. “Can’t frigging _wait_.”

Oh _no_.

The promise of a drinking excursion in Orlais has bolstered Sera’s spelunking spirits and her complaining is replaced with toneless humming as they continue.

“You know,” Thea says to break the silence, as the tunnel turns sharply again. “You don’t have to come, if you really don’t want to.”

Sera’s humming stops, but Thea forges ahead, “I figured, you seem like someone who wants to be out the field. I like taking you with me because you kind of taught me all I know…archery wise at least, don’t tell Varric. And I figured you could use a break from Haven because – ” here Thea pitches her voice into a horrible accent to lighten the mood, “It’s _boooooring_.”

A snort behind her, but no further commentary.

In truth, Haven can also sometimes use a break from Sera – Sera, who Thea has learned is surprisingly religious yet harbours (perhaps yet unaware) disdain and impatience for the stagnation of organized religion. She dogs the Chantry sisters and mothers for supplies for the people (of Haven and elsewhere); snarks if resources are stretched thin; sings hymns under her breath when she’s drunk but mouths off to Chancellor Roderick when he deigns to come too close to Thea and Adrian while the elf is nearby. Sera’s vast assortment of expletives has never yet been repeated in the presence of the Heralds and usually sends the prickly Chancellor scurrying.

“But if this isn’t working for you, you don’t have to come.” Thea lowers her voice into what she hopes is a sincere tone. “I don’t mean to speak entirely for Adrian but – neither of us want to force anything on you. You do a lot for us, with the Red Jennies. That could be enough.”

 _Now_ Sera’s mumbles are designed to hide – Thea cocks her head and says, “Huh?”

“ – Came ‘cuz I thought you lot _needed_ me.” Is the elf’s mutter.

Dammit. Thea’s heart melts.

“We do need you.” She assures. “That’s why we ask you to come. I just don’t want to bring you somewhere where you’re genuinely uncomfortable.”

She sees Sera’s lip twist in thought and Thea holds up a finger, amends, “ _Uncomfortable_ is something that’s always going to happen on the road, Sera. Wet tents and cold mornings don’t _count_.”

A pout. Called it.

“Anyways.” Thea turns back. “Lemme know. I don’t _need_ you if it means you’ll be unhappy, you know.”

Then she immediately trips over a set of armour in the path.

It’s painful on the way down but mostly for her pride because Sera bursts out into laughter, even when the torch gets extinguished in the shallow trickling water at their feet.

“I’m dying.” Thea warbles dramatically, hands scrabbling at what feels unfortunately like a combination of metal and _bones_.

Sera’s still snickering. Goddamn _elf vision_.

“OK I’m gonna need an assist.” Thea finally says; then turns and yelps when she sees the glint of Sera’s eyes in the dark.

“Fine, fine, hold on.” Sera’s quiet for a moment; then Thea feels hands in her armpits, helping to haul her up and untangle her from a skeleton.

“Is it a dwarf?” Thea asks absently. “Because if not, then hopefully that means there’s an entrance up ahead!”

Snorting, Sera says, “Yeah, or there's something up ahead that _made_ ‘im a skeleton.”

Thea doesn’t want to think about that.

“C’mon.”

Sera trails after her, then says, “Y’know, you don’t have to _say_ that.”

“Say what.” Thea’s trying to rifle in her pack for another torch – after a beat Sera sighs; aggressively links their arms and takes the lead.

“Say that shit. About me being uncomfortable. I want to _help_ , and helping means being uncomfortable. ‘Sides. _You_ do shit you don’t want to do all the time.”

“That’s different.” Thea says without thinking with a laugh.

“Why?” Sera presses; sounds more serious.

“Because I have to. The downsides of a glowy hand.” Thea waves it for good measure and the spark of green reflects off Sera’s eyes in the dark. It’s a little eerie.

“What’re the upsides?” Sera wants to know.

“Free drinks at the tavern.” That’s Thea’s tested and tried response to that question; in truth, she doesn’t think there’s _any_ upsides. She’d be happy if no one looked _twice_ at her – yet here she is, foisted up on a platform she didn’t ask for, getting blessed by Mothers she doesn’t know, when the last time she entered a church with a pure mind was when she was carried in for a baptism.

Sera hums, quiet.

“Don’t have to do anything,” she mutters, when they both see the faint prickling of light ahead of them. “’F you don’t want to. But you do, so you’re good sort. For now.”

Every conversation Thea’s had with Sera has ended in a boisterous threat, so she expects nothing less.

“You too.” She responds, endures the punch to her bicep as her and Sera claw their way through the thorns that have grown over this disused tunnel entrance. They’re about half a kilometre from their party, recognize this patch of grove from earlier in the afternoon as they passed by.

Within fifteen minutes they see the breadth of Iron Bull up on the slope of the hill and signal their companions with gleeful shouts.

“Herald!” Sera yowls when she spots Adrian, wiping off the mud and gunk that’s accumulated on her breastplate (mostly because of Thea, who faceplanted into _stagnant water_ ), looking euphoric. “You, me, Milkmaid! We’re going drinking after this!”

Adrian looks askance at Thea as she approaches, face horrified.

“What did you _do_?” they ask.

“The only promise I made, I made in my own name,” Thea hisses - buckles as Sera jumps on her, elated at being topside again. “ _Save yourself._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Genuinely ecstatic about my own personal headcanon that Sera took in Thea’s propensity for braids when they first met and thought, “Ah, the perfect nickname – MILKMAID”


	4. DOUBT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thea finally gets a bad feeling about Blackwall, perhaps too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Briefly description of sex at the beginning, don't think there's anything too crazy.

“What do you think’s in those ruins Leliana marked on the Hissing Wastes map?” Thea wonders, reaching up to slide her braid over one shoulder, playing with the end. “Think it’ll help?”

There’s a beat – then Blackwall groans, puts his head down on the pile of furs he’s lying on. His hands are hot on her hips, fingers tensed hard enough that she can feel the dull half-moon bite of his nails; then he grinds out, “Is this _really_ the moment you’ve chosen to think about this?”

“So-o-orry.” Thea really is; thoughts get away from her sometimes and she’s fresh off twenty-seven hours of no sleep and a war table meeting, chasing after the loose ends that often spring up after a few months of inactivity. A scout Leliana sent out who returned with news from an unexplored area; a carefully placed note that Josephine wrote that has caused a rift in several noble families; a selected group of Rutherford’s men returning to Skyhold with rumors of bandits with unusual creatures guarding them…there’s too much, sometimes. Thea feels like yelling, _Just fucking DECIDE!_ But it all falls on them – crushes her and Adrian under the weight of it.

Whoops. Not helping. She rocks her hips to placate him, watching his face.

Blackwall’s groan feels like it spreads through her body, a vibration and Thea hums in satisfaction. Her knees smooth against the fur beneath them and she huffs, shuffles her knees outwards so she sinks a little deeper onto his cock. As he groans again, she idly sucks her lower lip between her teeth with a pleased little noise.

“I’m still here.” She assures him, her hands exploring the expanse of his chest, furred with wiry hair, and she leans down to coax a kiss from him. “Sorry. I’ll focus.”

“By all means if you have – ” Blackwall grunts against her tongue; she feels his hips flex minutely, “Other matters to attend to…”

“Oh hush, this is the only matter I want to attend to.” She wriggles, drawing yet another noise from him.

“I should hope so.” Is Blackwall’s answer, one arm coming up to pull her back down to his lips.

Thea’s lost, sufficiently distracted – is distracted through Blackwall pulling out to come between her thighs and up on her stomach; cleaning herself off and kissing him until he falls into enough of a gruff, grumbling snoring sleep that she can doze beside him, one arm slung over his stomach, side of her face pressed against his shoulder. Distracted even when she sits up in the night, remembering that she’s supposed to speak with Vivienne and Adrian tomorrow but feeling a contented warmth to her bones that has her reluctant to move.

“Leavin’?” Blackwall’s voice is full of sleep.

Thea _should_ – but Blackwall’s running a hand, almost without thinking, up the length of her bare back and she shakes her head.

“Had a dream.” She murmurs, lets herself be coaxed down so she’s draped over Blackwall’s chest and dozes fitfully until the morning.

Blackwall’s still sleeping when Thea leaves, stealing from the barn in the pink of dawn. She meets Adrian in the common quarters and knows Adrian can tell she’s dressed in yesterday’s clothes.

Adrian is braiding their hair – has had tea and breakfast sent up, something comprised of a steaming loaf, rashers and the dark char of root vegetable hash. Thea collapses gratefully upon her portion once she’s sponged off and changed into a fresh set of clothes.

Here’s the thing that tips her off – Adrian’s being _soft_.

Not that Adrian can’t be affectionate, wonderful, comforting – they’re all of these things for Thea, and more. But Thea can tell when Adrian’s circling around a subject for her sake and in the morning light it's a little irritating.

“Hullo.” She says when Adrian gives her a teacup accompanied with that _look_. “What’re you up to?”

“So many things.” Is Adrian’s automatic response; then they laugh, ask, “That obvious?”

“For me? Yes. For others? No, so casual.”

“Good.” Adrian plunks themselves down next to her. “So, I talked to Alistair a while ago.”

Thea chokes – almost wishes she had drank the tea already so she could spit it out. “I’m sorry – _the King of Ferelden_?”

“Yup.”

“I, wh – ” Thea settles on the third knee-jerk question. “You're pen pals with a king? What do you...talk about?”

“The weather, mostly.” Is Adrian’s response; a placating one.

“Har har.” Says Thea. “Seriously. What’s wrong. Is he mad about what we’re doing?”

“Oh.” Adrian scoffs. “God no, nothing like that.”

They hesitate; then say, “I’m not sure about Blackwall.”

As Thea opens her mouth, the usual retort on the tip of her tongue, Adrian gives her such an earnest, _Adrian_ look that Thea _stops_.

“Okay.” She says instead. “Walk me through this.”

Adrian looks pleased – knows that sometimes Thea will kick and scream her way through any sort of intervention or emotional talk.

“Walking through” something with Adrian is a toss-up depending on the day. Adrian will meander sometimes between points (Thea doesn’t help in those instances, catches snatches of trails and derails conversations until they’ve spoken for three hours without reaching Adrian’s goal). Sometimes Adrian ricochets like a pinball, bright, leaving a fiery trail in their wake for Thea to follow – in those instances, she focuses just on keeping up. But then, sometimes, Adrian has something planned that they want to say, walks Thea purposefully to their point.

In those cases, Thea knows it’s worth following them through this.

Adrian lays out the products of their questioning – they've been here before, after all. Adrian has mentioned their confusion with Blackwall's story before, his reticence in the face of intense questioning. At the time, Thea had thought it was because they were coming on a bit too strong - Solas was the only one of their companions who seemed to consistently appreciate her and Adrian's questions. Varric deflected with stories, the Iron Bull recited answers with a tilted head; Sera got suspicious and grumbly the more sober they managed to find her...so it wasn't surprising that Blackwall, too, didn't like too many questions.

Adrian reminds her of the vagueness of Blackwall’s information about the Wardens when he first joined; his unwillingness to answer any questions further. King Alistair, Hawke and Stroud had only heard of Blackwall, never met him. His reputation preceded him.

“It’s been years,” Adrian continues, earnest. “So I’m not saying that he’s poised in wait to backstab us – ”

Thea snorts, but waits for them to continue.

“In all aspects, he’s been a good companion. He fights well. He genuinely seems invested in the Inquisition’s efforts. I remember that he was always sympathetic to the people we met on the road.”

Adrian’s rolling their words over in their mouth, as if they can’t even believe what they're saying.

“So,” Thea continues. “Is there anything specific that’s uh – caught your attention?”

“I understand that Grey Wardens are secretive,” Adrian begins, looking poised for her reaction, “But…Thea…he hasn’t been very _helpful_ with that.”

As Thea bristles Adrian immediately soothes, “He’s been a helpful _fighter_. He’s been a helpful _companion_. But think hard about it, what has he _really_ told us about anything Grey Warden-specific?”

Adrian gives her a few seconds to think, then continues, “We knew nothing about Grey Wardens when we came here, so I couldn’t really _dispute_ what little he gave us, and even now, I get it. I wouldn’t put everything on a silver platter for two upstarts from the sky, either. But the fact that he never mentioned the Calling until Adamant? That he never mentioned _hearing_ anything until we specifically asked, then just said it “didn’t sway him”? Didn’t sway _him_ , but somehow every other Warden??”

Thea thinks for a moment; then offers, “I don’t know much about Grey Wardens. But maybe if I was hearing something in my head I’d be scared to say anything about it. How much does the average citizen know about what the Grey Wardens go through?”

“We are not average citizens.” Adrian counters patiently. “We’re lucky they didn’t burn us at the stake when they first found us waving around glowing hands. If Blackwall thought _we_ would judge then I’m not sure what that says about _us_.”

“Varric and Hawke are the ones who encountered Corypheus before,” is Thea’s next point. “And Leliana traveled with the Hero of Ferelden. I just assumed they both might have more specific information for us about what we needed, more than Blackwall at least. You can go your whole life as a Warden without slaying an Archdemon, right? As far as I know, all he was doing during the Blight was killing Darkspawn.”

“Yes! But! Also!” Adrian pushes forward. “Grey Wardens can sense Darkspawn, right? You remember the last time we were underground and I asked him about it?”

“He said to be wary.” is Thea’s protest. Adrian pointedly does not look away.

“Varric told me once that Wardens can sense Darkspawn down to the _individual_. What kind of answer is _be wary?_ ”

“Wh – was he just supposed to try to figure out if there were seven to the west and three above us?”

“At the _very_ least he could give us a few seconds notice before they popped out of the woodwork!” Adrian waves their hands. “That’s the whole reason we brought him!”

Something flip flops in Thea’s stomach, an inkling of uncertainty.

“Maybe he’s just a shitty Grey Warden.” She hears herself say and Adrian huffs a breath through their nose, levels her with a look.

“Maybe.” They allow. “Or maybe it’s something more. Other than the name, he’s just another guy with the Inquisition. And hey, he helps out. I can’t deny that.”

Leaning in, Adrian confides, “As soon as we met Alistair something felt – different. I don’t know if it’s because he was _there_ when the Hero of Ferelden stopped the Blight, but he feels like what a Warden _should_ feel like. Like he’s got a foot somewhere else,. Kind of like we do. Like Cole does. Blackwall’s _here_ , Thea, he doesn’t have a foot anywhere that I thought a Warden would.”

Thea considers this. If anything, she knows that when either of them get “feelings” here that they’re worth following. Adrian wears the Fade like a literal veil around their head sometimes – they’ve told her before that it itches and buzzes. Thea’s always imagined it as old TV static behind their eyes though she’s sure there’s a more graceful description of it that Adrian could give.

“So, what, do we…?” she trails off, shrugs. “Do you tell him “hey I think you faked all that shit about Wings of Valor and you’re not actually a real Warden and you’re just a random carpenter named Blackwall who thought he’d pretend to be a Warden for fun”…?”

Adrian threw up their hands, said, “I mean, like I _said_. He’s helpful. No one can charge him for the crime of being _vague_. But I don’t like deception on any level, you know that.”

“I know this.” Thea nods along to her friend, offers, “Maybe we could speak to Leliana? She’s the one that told us about Blackwall in the first place.”

“I did.” Is Adrian’s reply, and Thea goes a little stiff.

“Well, you’ve certainly put a lot of thought into this.” She tries not to sound stung, but Adrian catches it, lets their body roll to the side in fond exasperation.

“I thought about it for awhile before saying anything because I didn’t want to come to you with a half-baked accusation.” They curl a knuckle and tap it gently into the side of Thea’s thigh. “Because I know you…y’know. _Like_ him.”

“I sleep with the guy on a semi-regular basis, I sure _hope_ I like him.”

Adrian’s elbow, next, into her side. “You know what I mean.”

“I appreciate it.”

The aftermath of the conversation hangs between them as they get ready to speak to Vivienne. If the mage senses Thea’s contemplative mood she is graceful enough not to mention it, instead updating them (as per Adrian’s insistence – Thea’s pretty sure if they didn’t ask, Vivienne wouldn’t have shared) on the contents of the tomes they had brought back for her throughout their travels.

“I understand she’s trying to reclaim the knowledge that the Circles preserved,” Adrian remarks when they leave Vivienne’s sitting area, “But if she’s using us – our name, our power – to collect these resources, I want her to share. The mages here deserve to know as much as she does.”

Thea doesn’t disagree.

“Why do you always walk so fast?” Adrian complains playfully, and Thea slows her lengthened stride.

“I’m thinking about Grey Wardens, now, you’re making me walk fast.” She means it as a joke, but Adrian puts their fingers into the crook of Thea’s elbow.

“I didn’t mention it to worry you.” They insist with earnestness. “I mentioned it because I’ve been thinking about it a lot – I didn’t just, you know, have a thought and immediately say it out loud!”

Adrian’s looking at her with pride – Thea has to admit, that’s usually Adrian’s strategy for things like new hobbies and interests; but casting suspicion on a man that Thea was having a (semi?) relationship with was a little more…serious. And Adrian knows how to keep secrets that are _serious._

“I know you wouldn’t say it out of spite,” Thea assures them. “I know this. Just. I don’t know. I don’t know what to think right now. You might have to give me a minute.”

“As much time as you need.” Her friend’s doe-lashed eyes are wide with sincerity and Thea blows out a breath – extends an arm to wrap it around Adrian’s shoulders.

“I know you’re just looking out for me. Again, I appreciate it. Now you have to let me stew in my thoughts, as per usual.”

“I did account for the stewing time.” Adrian snuggles easily into the space of Thea’s side. They smell like oiled leather and a tangy, flowery scent at the join of their jaw and ear.

“Very wise.” Thea murmurs, mind already drifting again.

Adrian is kind about it – ensures that they take most of the weight of the duties they have left in the day. Thea almost wishes they hadn’t, because without the responsibility of an engaged task Thea is left to play old conversations over in her head and she _hates_ doing that, _hates_ second-guessing herself and the people around her. She’s done this with high school performances, exes, and school placements and her mind tends to unravel even the most innocuous interactions.

Needless to say, Thea gets nothing done during the day, wholly deserves the exasperated, “Is there somewhere you have to be, Lady Thea?” from Josephine when Thea tunes out their conversation about Antiva (which Adrian, at least, is _wholly_ engaged in).

“Bed.” Is her honest answer.

She is quickly urged there by Adrian, to her great relief.

* * *

It is, ultimately, a discovery nearly a week after after Adrian’s conversation that pushes that seed of doubt further into Thea’s mind.

By some stroke of convenience, Thea hadn’t seen Blackwall much since then. Something had changed since the last scout passed through Skyhold with news from Val Royeaux – Blackwall’s shoulders had stiffened somewhat and the one time she’d seen him that week (passing through the barn to collect her favourite shawl, left behind from last time – and he’d _folded_ it for her, what the fuck), his touches had been hesitant but somehow more meaningful. She’d stopped to speak to him as he moved about his worktable, and he’d put one ungloved hand in the middle of her back for a moment as they spoke. It felt like he was committing the moment to memory. Thea was doing the same, scanning his face and shoulders and wondering, after all these years, why Blackwall didn’t feel like he could tell them what he was keeping from them. _If_ he was even keeping anything from them, she hurries to contest.

Ever since the conversation with Adrian, she’s been picking over what little she remembers of her conversations with Blackwall that featured the Grey Wardens, puzzling over the pieces with a bit of forlornness. Was she so out of sync with Adrian that these bits hadn’t raised an alarm? Or had she instead been too distracted by Blackwall as a person to question Blackwall as a Warden?

“Have you heard anything from the Wardens?” she had asked him without thinking, and watched the line of Blackwall’s shoulders stiffen even further.

“They are – finding a use for themselves.” was his remark, a defensive edge in his tone. “Above all else, the Wardens know their duty.”

“I imagine so.” Thea had looked him over, squeezed her shawl tight against her chest and said, “I, uh – will I see you later?”

Blackwall had nodded but hadn’t said anything; then leaned down and pressed a kiss into the curls at the crown of Thea’s head. She had snorted at that, trying to lighten the mood, pulsing her fingertips reassuringly against the biting metal rivets on his gambeson – but he had already pulled away.

“I’ll bring you dinner tomorrow,” she had said, backing away from him. “I think the cook's making fish pies, I’ll snag some.”

That next morning had found her rehearsing some casual questions for Blackwall as she climbed the stairs up past Dorian and Fiona.

Thea sometimes likes to bring the offals of her germinated sprouts up to Leliana’s crows to feast upon. When Leliana is there, they both exchange stilted pleasantries; but this morning she is absent. There’s a folded set of papers lying on the sill across from Leliana’s desk and Thea is _curious_ because Leliana is _deliberate_. Anything that is meant to be hidden is destroyed and anything meant to be found is _found_.

It’s a letter (folded and refolded, with a note on the back from one of Leliana’s scouts, “ _as per your request, Nightingale_ ”) from Blackwall to his recruits, written during the 9:30 Dragon Blight – back during the time, Thea remembers, that Leliana had traveled with the Hero of Ferelden. In it, Blackwall bemoans the closure of the Orlesian border that prevents them from aiding the Ferelden wardens, the decree from Loghain Mac Tir that “no Warden set foot in the country” though Blackwall meant to offer aid…

_“You mentioned you hadn’t heard of the Hero of Ferelden til the Blight was over,” Adrian had asked Blackwall, at Haven, at a time when Thea was practically dead on her feet from exhaustion; yet painfully and shyly aware of this gruff, handsome Warden who had pledged his services to the Inquisition. “Where were you during the Blight, that you did not cross paths with the other Wardens?”_

_“My journeys took me all around Ferelden” was Blackwall’s response. “I was quietly killing my fair share of Darkspawn, I assure you. However, I took no action worthy of accolade like the Hero of Ferelden.”_

Adrian’s questions had veered on to the Hero, to how the Blight was ultimately ended.

It is doubt that roils in Thea’s gut, that drives her to slip the letter into her apron pocket; to take it out once she’s past Dorian (who must notice her pale face and short words as he tries to coax her to sit down for tea), to examine the precise, looping handwriting of Warden-Constable Blackwall; it is doubt that forces her mind to compare it to the sparse notes Blackwall has left her before – short little scrawls, some full of his dry wit, others accompanied by a small gift left in her quarters that he had dropped off for her.

It is doubt that has Thea pushing into her chamber to have a quick, shuddering, disbelieving cry - then clean her face up, take a shot of whiskey for courage, and press past Adrian to the barn, rehearsing what she’ll say, how she’ll approach this topic without mentioning Adrian’s name and all the questions they've been asking.

She never gets the chance. The barn is empty, a note (chicken-scratch handwriting that still does _not_ match the 9:30 missive) pinned to a post in the loft. The next time she sees Blackwall – Rainier, _whoever_ the fuck she’s been sharing a bed with – he’s on the hangman’s platform and she feels sick sick _sick_ like her body’s rejecting all the tender moments she’s ever managed to snatch in Skyhold.

Any reprieve she felt from the fear of living with the Mark nestled between her heart- and her life-line has been yanked away, like garlic pulled before the thaw; like an aborted planting season she never got to see through to fruition. Ruined potential.

Rutherford – _Cullen_ – is there too, and he’s just as earnestly, sickly sympathetic as she would fear from him. Her response to his quiet suggestion is terse, bitter; for once, she doesn’t cock her head to wait for Adrian’s voice and she hopes they will forgive her for speaking alone in the Inquisition’s name.

“Have him released into the Inquisition’s custody. We have questions.”


	5. DREAM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone dreams sometimes, don't they?

The gas station they stop at has a name Thea doesn’t recognize. Adrian might – they grew up around smaller towns and places like these so it might be a chain Thea’s never heard of. There are four stand-alone pumps out front and the building itself is uninteresting, a weathered beige cube with a stack of firewood in front of the doors. Beside the station, the highway stretches on - they're not in the mountains yet, so it's the flat, slightly curved highway of the prairies, that marries the violent yellow of canola fields with the unbearable blue of the sky. Sometimes the scope of the sky makes Thea feel like she could scream with happiness.

“Ohhhh Ade, do we need firewood? The campground has some, right?” Thea leans around the front of the car, spots Adrian with their back to her, fiddling with the gas pump. They’ve got one of their well-loved flannel shirts tied around their waist and their hair is twin braided under a ball cap.

Adrian waves her question off without turning around and says, “Yeah get some now, ‘n case we’re late coming in.”

“Kay.” Thea’s hiking boots are crusted with mud; she clomps her way in to the gas station. The clerk isn’t behind the counter, just the metal stretch of locked away cigarettes; there are three rows of snacks, a carafe of coffee on a side sill, and a wall of random assorted bait, auto and camping equipment.

The sight brings that rush of nostalgia to Thea, who remembers a handful of summers driving out to campgrounds with Adrian (usually accompanied by another friend) spending the week infused with campfire smoke, bug spray and cooking grease. They usually switch off driving on these trips, Adrian taking first shift so they can relax and stretch out in the back later if needed (for their muscles), so Thea starts perusing the snacks to cultivate her highway smorgasbord.

Chips are needed, to shove between the console for them both to snack on. Sometimes Adrian will throw chips at her mouth if she needs it but Thea's mastered the one handed road trip driving. Something sweet for a break (Fuzzy Peaches?); then something caffeinated (does she trust the coffee here? Will a soft drink be a waste of calories?). Staring at the beef jerky, Thea deliberates buying a pack for Blackwall, who shovels away a surprising amount of dried rations when they’re on the road –

Pause. Exhale. Thea can suddenly see her breath in the hot summer gas station air. It feels oppressively quiet, the noise from the highway muffled like a pillow pressed over Thea’s head. She turns to the door. The car is still there but she can’t see Adrian and she runs to the passenger door, wraps her fingers around the handle and –

Is standing in front of the beef jerky. Thea blinks. Adrian needs protein, and Thea takes a few packs just to have something to stash in the car throughout the week.

The cashier at the front doesn’t look away from their screen as they scan, and their profile is hidden by one of those gaudy Lotto advertisements. Thea gathers her snacks in her arms and heads outside, where Adrian is still fiddling with the gas pump.

The ground in front of the gas station is packed earth but Thea’s feet slide, suddenly – when she looks down the dirt has spread around her foot like fallen snow.

Pause. Exhale.

“I got snacks!” she sings to Adrian. “Did we need anything else?”

“No, we’re almost there.”

Thea kneels half into the passenger seat to drop the snacks in the front. Her elbow brushes Adrian’s jacket in the back, stiff canvas with a mottled, crudely repaired tear left from that Pride demon –

She’s standing at the rear end of the car, feeding the gas pump into the tank while Adrian walks towards the gas station. Exhales, watches her own breath dissipate into the sun. When Thea squints up at the station sign she thinks she sees the word ‘ _ECONO_ ’ then ‘ _EZ GAS_ ’ then ‘ _CHEAP CIGS_ ’ then ' _HOMEWARD BOUND_ ' then ‘ _LETHE_ ’. Her stomach rolls over on itself and she fumbles for her phone, meaning to send a text to her mother. There’s a storm on the horizon – maybe they should turn back home. They’re not far out of the city, Thea could easily convince Adrian to camp overnight in her parent’s backyard. It would be cute to set the tent up there, giggle in the darkness all the same. The sky in front of them is dark purple, roiling. If Thea squints, she thinks she can see snow.

The hand holding the gas pump starts shaking, so hard she knocks the knobby bone of her wrist against the handle. Her palm burns, like she's touched ice. It’s like a involuntary seizing of her muscles and Thea looks down –

“Are you getting that?” Thea’s staring at the beef jerky inside the gas station; Adrian’s standing across from her, hidden by the other side of the snack rack.

“I think so.” Thea says, slides a packet off the rack. “For our friends.”

“Oh.” Adrian rustles something she can’t see. “What friends?”

“Our – ” Thea frowns, then laughs. “C’mon Adrian.”

“There’s no one here with us, Thea.”

Thea blinks – exhales.

She’s utterly alone in the store. The clerk is gone. Adrian is gone. Outside, the car sits with all four of its doors open. The dark scabbing purple of the sky has a streak of green through it, pulsing like a lightning bolt behind a cloud. Thea can feel the car keys clutched so tight in her fist that her hand is shaking again and without really thinking she makes a mad dash for the vehicle, scrambling around the front and to the driver’s seat.

She slots the keys in the ignition and hears, “Thea” to her right.

Adrian’s standing in the open door of the passenger side, but their face is roiling and purple, streaked green like the sky under their hat.

“Don’t leave me.” They say.

“I won’t.” Thea breathes – her hand drops from the keys. “I never will, Adrian, what the fuck – ”

Adrian reaches across the car and Thea takes their hand –

* * *

Thea comes back to herself in a shuddering, shrieking breath of absolute _cold_. Her fingers are absolutely numb and the pain is radiating up her forearms and her shoulders. She can’t feel her face. It’s so _cold_.

In every direction there’s snow, unending.

Well, maybe not, but it’s falling so aggressively that her field of vision can barely take in five feet in front of her.

She’s curled around Adrian who looks as cold as Thea feels but has stopped shivering.

Bad sign.

Thea _remembers_ – past Corypheus, past the dragon, past the crumbling remains of Haven where her and Adrian spent nearly a year. Remembers falling into those tunnels, a brief reprieve from the storm. Remembers her and Adrian intertwining their arms to use the Marks, the cold limp back out into the snow, and not much else past that.

There might be, Thea reasons to herself, a light in front of her, at the horizon. Whether that’s fire or the cold light of dawn, Thea much prefers using her last moments to walk rather than dream about gas stations she’ll never see again.

“Hey,” she croaks, jostles Adrian. The flutter of their eyelashes is the only response she gets but when she hauls Adrian up by their good shoulder, they are able to put one foot in front of the other.

“I’m not leaving you.” She says. “We might as well be on our feet for a little while longer.”

Adrian’s “’kay” is slurred and together they count out their steps forward, into the snow, prepared to be together til the last moment.

* * *

“Had to pull you off Adrian when I found you,” the Iron Bull remarks to Thea when she’s finally released from the camp infirmary. She'd spent a week without feeling in her hands, fingers grey-white from the second knuckle up. She had been half-worried that they’d need to chop the Mark off and attach her glowy hand to Adrian with magic to continue the job.

(Thea had advocated for a unicorn-type adornment. Adrian had righteously protested.)

“You two were hanging onto each other like your arms were frozen closed.”

“Wasn’t making the same beef jerky mistake twice.” Is Thea’s sniffed response, and the Iron Bull rolls his head to the side, curious.

“Whatever you say, boss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a sucker for metaphors about "liminal spaces". I'm sure it's different for everyone, but for me gas stations are always the peak inspiration for "liminal space", especially the ones you find on the highway in northern Ontario and out west towards the mountains or the hoodoos.


End file.
